


The Downstairs Neighbor

by Onmyliteraturebullshitagain



Series: And They Were Neighbors (oh my god they were neighbors) [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, But had too many Zukka vibes to ignore, First Meetings, Gen, Humor, M/M, Midwest Bi Disaster Zukka, My First Work in This Fandom, Oblivious Zuko (Avatar), Originally a OC story, POV Sokka (Avatar), Pre-Friendship too, Pre-Relationship, Reworked, Sokka is a genius dumbass, adult characters, zukka - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26936632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onmyliteraturebullshitagain/pseuds/Onmyliteraturebullshitagain
Summary: Sokka is determined to figure out what obviously terrible person with an obnoxious cat and no presence in the community lives in the apartment below him. But of course, he can't just ask someone, so this is going to take some snooping around and an excessive amount of his own imagination.
Relationships: Sokka & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: And They Were Neighbors (oh my god they were neighbors) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1968508
Comments: 48
Kudos: 722





	The Downstairs Neighbor

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally just my own story with no connection to any fandoms, but once I'd finished, there were just too many Sokka/Zuko vibes to ignore. So I reworked it to be more specific to those characters, but I'm definitely not sure of the success there since I don't typically write fanfiction and have never written for this fandom. I hope it's fun regardless!

Incorrectly or not, Sokka had just assumed his downstairs neighbor was an older, bitchy woman. Granted, he didn't have any reasoning for this beyond the balcony, which was all he could see of the apartment itself. The balcony had two porch rail baskets full of very well-tended red and yellow flowers, an antique looking clock mounted on the wall, two matchy antique looking outdoor chairs, and a large ginger cat that tended to escape between the white railings. Luckily, this was at ground level, so the cat wasn't in any danger, but it did like to sneak out and chew on the apartment landscaping and yowl at the birds. Said yowling of course meant Sokka’s dog went nuts crying and pawing at the balcony door to go out and then bark incessantly at the escaped cat, which he couldn't see if it would just stay on its own damn patio. 

But it didn't, which created a whole cycle that led to Sokka shrieking at Boomerang to shut the hell up, which led to Boomerang stealing as many of his socks as he could find and hiding himself in the linen closet with them, which lead to him knocking over and then laying on what had once been clean sheets and towels, which lead to Sokka doing more laundry and cussing out his downstairs neighbor while slamming the squeaky washing machine door shut.

He’d taken to calling Downstairs Neighbor "Barbie McBoomer" in his head, which helped a little but not really, and calling the cat "That Ginger Asshole," which helped even less. He was irritated, of course, but not enough to actually knock on the door and _say_ something. He actually wasn't even 100% sure which door that would be if he did somehow get up the hypothetical balls for confrontation with a stranger. When he was feeling most brave (or most annoyed) he imagined running into Barbie while he was walking Boomerang and giving that stupid neighbor a real ass-chewing. He imagined Barbie as an older woman who wore blouses from Kohl's and had a smoker voice and probably badly dyed hair and coral lipstick on her teeth. She probably tried to always look younger and only took such good care of the flowers on the patio because she had no other love in her life.

It was a mean thought, but Sokka came to it at 5am when Boomerang was whining out the window and breaking the mini-blinds because That Ginger Asshole had snuck out to eat the browning autumn sage plants again. Due to the time of day, and the fact that Boomerang had kicked him in the face leaping out of the bed, Sokka didn't feel bad about it. 

He figured at some point Downstairs Neighbor had to emerge, right? At some point, they'd have to cross paths at the mailbox or going into the office to pay rent or even driving by each other in the parking lot. Maybe less so in the winter, but still. Even Barbie couldn't just hole up forever could she? Granted, maybe Downstairs Neighbor did cross his path sometimes, but since no Karen look-alike with overdone acrylic nails and permanent frown lines crossed his path, he could never be sure.

Maybe he should get to know his neighbors better, especially now that he’d lived there for a few months. It wasn’t like he knew anyone else in town, not since the breakup and the move for the Real Job™ that had brought him here, so it was about time. Really, the only ones he could recognize by sight (or sound) was Grandma Screaming at Chloe the Yorkie, Ball Cap Divorce Oversharer, and Shoos Her Kids Out of the Parking Lot When Sokka Gets Home From Work. He was about half-sure Divorce Oversharer's name was Bob or Rob or Ron or something like that, and thought Shoos Her Kids might have been Tiffany. One of the kids themselves was definitely Dalton, which he only knew because the other one squealed it like a damn police siren whenever Dalton hogged the Paw Patrol ball too long. 

Wow, maybe Sokka really did need to get to know the neighbors better. If nothing else, maybe that way he could figure out by process of elimination which one was Barbie McBoomer.

So once it started getting warm enough that he didn't freeze his tits off every time he took Boomerang out to pee, he started taking him on longer walks around the property and waving at neighbors. It made him feel a little bit like a lonely shut-in or a little like a kid who hadn't learned appropriate social skills (both of which might be slightly true), but most people smiled and waved back. The longer he did it and the closer to summer it got, the more people stopped to pat Boomerang or make some sort of comment about the weather. It helped too that probably 70% of the apartment community's residents were old white people who would take any opportunity for conversation with a “nice young man” like himself.

"Conversation", as it turned out, meant bitching to Sokka about how management didn't cut the grass short enough or wouldn't let them put out yard decor or refused to tell Hama in 34C to clean the hoarder clutter off her patio. Sokka found he could easily have a half-hour conversation while Boomerang snuffled in the dirt and wrapped himself around a tree, and he barely had to do more than nod and make vaguely agreeing noises. At least that way he learned that Grandma was actually named Linda, and that Chloe fricken _hated_ everyone that wasn't Linda, and that Oversharer was definitely named Bob and needed to find some real friends and _never_ ask Sokka again if he was “one of those Indians.” He also met and forced himself to remember Deirdre who still constantly jogged even in her sixties and Mona who gave unsolicited plant advice and Chuck who seemed nice until he started talking about "the blacks" and "making America great again,” which meant Sokka was hightailing it away as quickly as Boomerang would let himself be dragged.

Still nothing, though, about Barbie McBoomer, except that now that it was nicer out, the cat was out more and Boomerang was losing his damn mind even more frequently. Sokka already knew he'd have to pay for the miniblinds the dog had broken in his desire to be nearer the cat, but there wasn't a lot else he could do but turn him loose on the patio to bark himself tired. Let Barbie deal with that. In response, Sokka turned up Florence and the Machine loud enough to drown him out and tried to focus on scrubbing clean the skillet he'd used to make an omelet that morning.

When summer hit with its full power, Sokka decided to actually use the little onsight pool. He'd been living there for a year now, and he actually knew some of the other residents, so he figured they deserved to be graced with his rippling physique and fabulous summer fashion sense. He'd doubted it'd be terribly busy, considering the whole complex was basically one step up from an assisted living, but there were plenty of people there anyway when he wandered in. Tiffany and her two kids, Dalton and not-Dalton (he still couldn't get that one) were splashing around with bright pink pool floaties. Two retired ladies, who might have been a lesbian couple but Sokka could never quite be sure, were lounging in chairs wearing enormous sunhats and drinking White Claws. A small group of people around his age were at one of the tables drinking beers and already turning red around the shoulders. One was sitting with his feet in the pool and absently splashing them while he argued with another guy about places being closed on the 4th of July. Sokka grabbed a vacant fold-back chair, spread out his bright blue towel, and sat down. The pool-scape was a happy, multi-ethnic little summer hangout, even if everyone there right now bordered on the too-old or too-schlubby end of things to be really enjoyable for watching. Not that Sokka was some sort of perv. It was just that one of the joys of being at a pool--along with the sun and the pool itself and the happy way kids went almost feral with joy at being in water--was having a chance to check out hot people without looking like a weirdo because of the wonder that was sunglasses. No such luck today, though. Even if one of the guys sitting at the table had dark enough skin that he just looked glossy in the sun instead of looking like he was turning into a boiled lobster, he had such an unfortunate mustache that Sokka couldn’t really enjoy the view much.

With that thought, and an equal opportunity sense of hotness, Sokka adjusted his mirrored sunglasses on his nose and kept up his internal commentary. He knew he was kind of being a judgement prick, but if you couldn’t be a judgment prick at a pool by yourself while you lounged around in your own sweat then where could you be one?

While watching _90 Day Fiance_ because his sister got him addicted and getting slowly wine-drunk on a bottle you got from Aldi for four dollars? While glaring out the window at the downstairs neighbor’s cat making some blood-curdling vomiting sound because a chipmunk had scurried up a tree and out of reach?

Yes, those too. Pool, _90 Day Fiance_ , and cat vomiting sound. The only times you could legally and beyond reproach be judgmental.

Sokka dug the mystery novel paperback he’d been slowly picking his way through when the mood struck him out of his bag ( _not_ a purse) and settled himself back into the chair. He knew in the back of his head that some of the judgement and fixation on Downstairs Neighbor was just loneliness. He didn't regret moving here for the Real Job™, but he'd still left all his friends and family back in another state. And yes, thank god they lived in an era of Snapchat and Zoom and Netflix Parties, but still. Loneliness was a hell of a motivator to dig into people's lives and fixate on annoying cats.

Shoving the thought away, because it was stupid and sad and not at all the vibe he was going for, Sokka thumbed through the book to the page he’d last been on. It was hot enough to already feel the sweat in the shaved sides of his head and down the back of his neck where strands of his ponytail had already fallen out. Wiping the sweat away as well as possible, Sokka eyed other people at the pool as they came and went: a younger couple both in cut-off shorts and both looking half-drunk, a surprisingly attractive Asian guy who positioned himself with the best sun to read a book, a grandma in a purple one piece and her grandson in Spider-man trunks. The Asian guy caught his attention for a little while, with his lean, muscular torso and ruffled black hair and the scar across the left side of his face, but watching him got boring quickly because he didn't do anything but flip through his book. It ended up being much more fun for Sokka to pretend to read his own book and actually watch the cut-off shorts couple, who kept trying to sit on each other's laps and "whisper," which really meant saying inappropriate come-ons to each other at inappropriate volumes. 

It was entertaining for a while, watching them paw at each other and make slightly bloodshot doe-eyes and giggle too loudly at things that were decidedly not funny. But after about an hour, Sokka started to feel it grate on his nerves, both their shrill voices and the reminder of his own loneliness. Irritated, he tossed his book back on his town and headed into the pool itself. Maybe just dunking himself in cold water and pretending to ignore the people around him would make him feel a little bitter. The position he’d chosen at least put a little further from Overly Affectionate Drunk Couple and slightly closer to Surprisingly Attractive Guy, who hadn't looked up once at the whole display. Out of curiosity, Sokka tried to figure out what could possibly be so engrossing that this guy had missed a girl straight up licking a guy's neck in public and only ten feet from a literal child.

From the best Sokka could tell around the guy’s hands, it was either some sort of textbook, a self-help book, or a book about pregnancy. He couldn't decide which was weirder.

When he'd paddled around a little and floated for a while and no one else interesting had appeared, he decided to call it a day. There was a frozen burrito and a binge on Netflix calling his name, as well as a dog who might have actually chewed through a window depending on if That Ginger Asshole was outside again.

Barbie McBoomer wasn't a ghost. She'd have to appear sometimes. Really, Sokka knew he could just swallow his pride and ask one of the other neighbors about the person who lived below him, but somehow that just felt too pathetic for words. He was smart. He was social. He ought to be able to figure this out on his own, without actually, you know, talking to the people with actual facts. Better to just make up scenarios and obsessively scrutinize any and all neighborly interactions.

Much healthier, Sokka mused as he threw his towel around his shoulders and stuffed his stuff back into his bag. Much more normal.

That Ginger Asshole was not, in fact, outside when he got home, and Boomerang was asleep upside down on the couch with all four brown paws splayed in the air. He cracked open an eye at Sokka’s entrance and wagged a fluffy tail when he got close and rubbed the dog’s belly. Ah, blissful existence.

Two days later, Sokka was working from home, which was another benefit of this Real Job™, when he noticed the cat sneaking out between the bars of the patio again. He glared out at the cat as Boomerang noticed too and propped his paws up on the windowsill. He let out a long, pathetic whine, and Sokka rolled his eyes. Then he noticed the flowers on the downstairs patio moving. A hand! There was a hand in the flowers! 

Sokka was out of his chair before he had any sort of plan, knocking it over in the process, and sprinted to the balcony door. Boomerang, equal parts confused and excited, ran after him, already barking like mad. She was real! Barbie McBoomer was on her patio messing with her fill-the-void flowers!

Sokka yanked open the door, threw himself across the railing (frantic dog in tow) and bellowed, "Hey!" far more loudly than was probably strictly necessary at his downstairs neighbor.

There was a crash and a thump from the balcony below, and Sokka waited, hands fisted on the railing. Show yourself, he thought while he hung what was probably a dangerous way over the side of the balcony, completely unconcerned that he was in oversized athletic shorts and an old tank top and hadn’t showered or styled his hair in three days. 

A dark head emerged from over the patio railing downstairs and then swiveled to look at who was screaming. 

Surprisingly Attractive Guy, with wide eyes and messy hair and what looked like the tattered hanging of a cut-off tank top around his shoulders, now stared up at Sokka.

" _You're_ Barbie McBoomer?" Sokka demanded in something that could only be described as a squawk (although in later stories, he would fully deny this).

There was a beat of confusion as both participants in the floor-divided exchange seemed to register what he'd just said.

" _What_ ?" the downstairs neighbor replied, looking like Sokka had appeared out of thin air just to shriek at him, which (admittedly) was somewhat true. The whole scene of him looking confused and twisted around to see the guy above him while hanging off his patio railing may as well have been some sort of surrealist painting entitled _Dream of Hot Dude Terrified of Neighbor_.

A more rational person than Sokka would have cut his losses, fled inside, and then swiftly fled the country under an assumed name.

But he was in it now.

" _You_ live there?" he said with only slightly less intensity than his previous accusation.

"Yes?" Attractive Guy replied with visible confusion, his eyes going a bit wide. 

Damn, of course it had to be a hot guy Sokka was screaming at, a flustered, toned guy with messy hair and pretty eyes. 

Sokka soldiered on. " _You_ live there. For more than a year?"

Attractive Guy’s eyebrows drew together. "Yes."

"Just you?"

"Yes!" There was something slightly frantic in the guy’s face now which was, well, fair on all accounts.

Sokka doubled down. "You don't have, like, some annoying Boomer who also lives with you and lets out the cat just to annoy me, right?"

Attractive Guy blinked at him once, slowly. "Are you on something right now?"

"What?" Incredulous, which probably wasn't warranted, but Sokka felt it none-the-less.

"Have you been smoking something?" the guy asked, apparently also doubling down. "Eaten a brownie maybe? Shot up with heroin?" He rotated further to lean his back into the railing and waved his arms in front of him. "Are you seeing something other than me right now?"

"What? No!" Sokka snapped. "You actually live there?"

" _Yes_ ," the guy replied, clearly exasperated. "Seriously, is there someone I should call for you? A parent? A psychologist?” One eyebrow rose. “A parole officer?"

"No! I'm not on drugs!" Sokka barked. "Why would you assume that?"

"Well," Attractive Guy replied tersely, "you're screaming at the downstairs neighbor you've _never_ talked to before like he snuck in and stole the place he's actually been paying to rent for two years." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Excuse me for being concerned."

Sokka’s mouth opened and shut, and for a moment he seriously considered that "fleeing the country" idea again. Canada was supposed to be nice right? Cold but sort of forgiving?

"So that's your cat?" he asked instead, pointing toward the creature as it rubbed against the patio bars as if it wasn't guilty of creating this whole could-be-misconstrued-as-a-hate-crime interaction.

"Yes that's my cat," the guy replied, looking bewildered again. "Why?"

"Well," now the anger was overwhelming the embarrassment again, "it gets out all the time! Chews on the plants and meows and stuff!"

The guy stared at Sokka for just slightly too long. "And?" he asked finally.

" _And_ ," Sokka snapped, "it drives my dog crazy and he barks and breaks my mini blinds and kicks me in the face at 5am and drives me fucking nuts!"

The guy stared at him again, hair blowing a little in the summer wind. In another situation, Sokka definitely would have been hitting on him, not screaming at him, what with his attractive face and intriguing scar and muscular shoulders. Of course, right now the guy still looked about ready to call in the people in the white coats with the butterfly nets to come get Sokka off his own balcony. So… not quite a romantic situation, unfortunately.

"How," Attractive Guy asked slowly, "is that my fault?"

"It's your cat!"

"And it's your dog!" he snapped back. "Just… keep him away from the windows or something! Maybe don't let him kick you in the face! Maybe consider medication!"

"How about you keep your cat on your own patio or inside your house! And I do not," Sokka yelled back, "need medication! And neither does Boomerang!"

Everyone in the building was probably hearing this idiotic exchange right now. Every old person was probably peeking out their windows to watch because this was that _good_ gossip right here. 

Sokka really would have to move.

"Just keep the cat inside," he finished, trying and failing for a more rational response.

"You try keeping Dragon from sneaking out!" the guy barked. "You wanna pay to childproof my whole apartment? Because be my guest!"

"Wait," Sokka said, waving one hand and rubbing his forehead with the other, mind pausing on the cherry on top of the whole shit sundae of this exchange, "your cat's name is _Dragon?"_

The guy actually blushed a little, just a dusting of red on his cheekbones. 

"It's fitting," he said stiffly. "What, you gonna yell at me about that now too? Because your dog’s name is _Boomerang_ so I’m not the weird one between the two of us, buddy."

Sokka couldn't help it. The whole situation was so wildly farcical he couldn't keep the bubble of laughter in.

"This is so ridiculous," he admitted finally, words tangled in the suppressed laughter.

The guy shifted slightly, something relaxing a little in his shoulders. "Um, yeah. I'll say."

"I'm so sorry," Sokka said, still trying to hold in his laughter . "I'm clearly insane but I just… I'd never see you around and I…" More awkwardly stifled laughter.

The guy looked bristly again and said, "Well, I work weird hours as an EMT. I'm pretty sure that's not a _crime_."

"No, no it's not," Sokka said laughing more and waving again. "No, it's just me. Lonely and obsessive in my apartment, and I've gotten so worked up about the cat and I…" 

He knew his face probably looked manic as he continued to cackle, and the poor guy was still looking at him like he was definitely short a few marbles.

"I had this whole image in my head of the downstairs neighbor as this annoying old Karen-type," Sokka admitted, coughing to clear his throat, "and now, it's just…" He gestured vaguely at him, unable to keep back his wry smile.

Attractive Guy’s lips actually quirked up in a hint of something too. "Hence calling me Barbie Mc-whatever."

"McBoomer," Sokka supplied, blushing slightly, and then let out another unflattering bark of mirth. 

Oh god, this had to be the most embarrassing way to meet someone ever. Why was this Sokka’s life?

But surprisingly, the guy started laughing too, a low soft sort of rumbling sound. It was so stupid, the two of them hanging over their railings in the middle of the afternoon on a Tuesday, but it also felt oddly good to laugh with someone again, even if it was at Sokka’s own expense.

"I can try to keep Dragon from getting out more," the guy offered after they both quieted.

"And I'll try to keep Boomerang away from the windows," Sokka replied.

"So there we go," Attractive Guy said, actually smiling a little more. "No more screaming and scaring the ever-loving shit out of me?"

"Agreed," Sokka replied. "And I swear to god, I'm not actually on drugs or escaped from an institution or whatever. Just, uh, lonely and weird, I guess.”

The guy snorted. "Well that's… something then."

Sokka rubbed the sweat off his forehead as Boomerang stared down at the cat-- _Dragon_ , his brain supplied, which was a bit better than Ginger Asshole at least. The dog had his nose poked between the rails as far as it would go, and his tail wagged slowly back and forth. The cat looked up too, eyes round but making no noise for once, the tip of its own tail twitching on the ground.

"I'm Sokka, by the way," Sokka offered finally, because after all this, the poor guy should at least have the _correct_ name to use when he told this story to his friends or whoever it is who gives out restraining orders. 

Or he should have his actual name if Sokka still had, by some snowball’s chance in hell, any shot with his hot downstairs neighbor.

Said hot neighbor shifted a bit and, looking somewhat put upon, replied, "Zuko."

"Much better than Barbie McBoomer," Sokka replied and laughed again.

After a moment, Zuko actually joined him in that same pleasantly husky voice, so maybe there was still a chance after all.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I'm always here for comments/kudos, and feel free to come shout at me on tumble at onmyliteraturebullshit again if you're into some ecclectic nerd stuff


End file.
